


Sabbatical

by Muriel_Perun



Series: The Low Spark of Giles [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muriel_Perun/pseuds/Muriel_Perun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has a chip in his head, planted by the Initiative. Adam is still rampaging through Sunnydale. Giles is no longer a watcher, and he takes to drink, feeling out of touch and abandoned by everyone. But is he desperate enough to turn to Spike for help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sabbatical

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone story, written in 1999 during Season 4 of Buffy, with some changes and corrections made more recently. "Love Potion" is a sequel.

Wearing a threadbare bathrobe, Giles sat on the sofa. The T.V. was on in front of him, but his eyes weren’t even focused on it. Somehow the vague murmur of voices was comforting to him as long as he couldn’t hear the words. He had that birdcage taste in his mouth from having started on scotch too early in the day and then stopping too soon. He’d had his first stiff one at breakfast, which was actually lunch, since he’d risen at two. He’d had the second even stiffer one about half an hour later and then decided to take it easy for a while. That was his mistake. He could have been unconscious by now instead of half soused and half hung over at five in the afternoon.

He ran a hand through his tangled hair. It was quiet here except for the muted laughtrack on the tube. Outside, the sun was starting to set. Outside, people were coming home from work, getting ready for their evenings, settling in front of the telly.... Oh, who knew what the hell they were doing? Giles didn’t. He hadn’t had a job in six months. And Buffy? Well, she didn’t seem to need him anymore. Oh, when she did need him she came running, but it didn’t happen often these days. Since Spike had escaped, Giles had been out of things again. Adam was still at large and, whatever Buffy was doing about it, she didn’t consult with Giles. So Adam was out there killing children while Giles sat here in his shabby bathrobe, unwashed and unshaven, watching sitcoms and drinking himself into an early grave. And now he was starting to pity himself. What was next, early senility?

Olivia had invited him to go to New York to live with her. He could start a whole new life with someone who cared about him, but somehow he couldn’t leave Sunnydale. He still vaguely felt that he had a reason to be here, although he seemed to have lost his purpose. Maybe it was just inertia and depression that kept him in this town.

At first he thought that the sound he heard was part of the T.V. noise, but then it was repeated, more insistently. Someone was knocking at the door. It didn’t sound like a Buffy knock. She’d already be calling “Giles!” in her imperious way, eager to get what she needed from him to resolve her next crisis. It must be Willow and Tara, that suddenly inseparable pair. Giles hauled himself stiffly to his feet. They were always coming over and telling him what they needed in their soft, female voices.

“Do you have any eye of newt, Giles?” he mimicked out loud. “Any powdered bat wing? Kewl, thanks. Oh, no, we’re too busy to tell you why we want it. Good-bye until the next time we need you.”

He reached the door just as the knock was repeated louder. It made him angry. Without even straightening his robe, he flung the door open wide.

“What is it this ti—”

The woman on the other side of the door was wholly unfamiliar.

“Oh, excuse me,” he mumbled. “I expected someone else.”

“Are you Rupert Giles?” She was tall and athletic looking with blonde hair tossed about her face and piercing blue eyes. There was nothing flirtatious about her. In fact, there was a hardness around her mouth that dared you to notice her beauty. Giles didn’t take the dare. Through smeared glasses and bleary eyes he tried to see the object she was holding up. Discerning his problem, she held it closer.

“Oh, I see,” he said, taken aback at recognizing a police detective’s badge. “Please, come in.” As she walked past him he checked the front of his robe discreetly to make sure that it hadn’t parted. “I trust nothing has happened to any of my friends?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m Detective Lockley from the L.A.P.D. on a special investigation. I need to ask you a few quick questions. May I sit down?”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” said Giles, unsure that there _was_ a place to sit down. He led her to the cluttered couch. The cushions were piled with books and an old food plate and fork were balanced on one arm. On the coffee table sat the remains of his last couple of drinks and the rest of the bottle. “Sorry, about all this,” he said awkwardly, hating himself for apologizing. “You see, I had a late night, and.…”

“It’s all right,” she said coldly, perching on the arm of the large armchair as if she found any of the furniture too disgusting to sit down on properly. She looked pointedly at the television, and Giles turned it off. He removed the old plate and glasses to the kitchen and then came back and sat on the sofa, careful of the slit in the front of his robe.

“Now, then,” he said, trying to be brisk, “what can I do for you?” He saw in her contemptuous eyes exactly what he had become: a middle-aged drunk who looked and smelled too disgusting to be around for very long. As a person he held no interest for her.

“I’m investigating a person named Angel,” she began. Giles continued to look at her fixedly, hoping his face hadn’t changed. His pulse rate was increasing as she spoke. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“I know him,” Giles said, perhaps too quickly. He could see that she hadn’t missed his choice of words, or his rush to answer.

“How well?”

Giles pretended to think about the question, but his mind was a bedlam of competing thoughts and feelings. _Well enough_ , he thought, _as well as one can know one’s torturer. He killed the woman I loved best in the world._ He opened his mouth, not sure what would come out. “I suppose I know him fairly well,” he said cautiously. “I do hope nothing has happened to him.”

“No, no, nothing at all,” said the woman. “I’m just looking into his background.”

“I don’t know much about that,” Giles lied. _And If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it anyway._ He hoped she would leave soon. His headache was worsening, making him nauseous, and he had to pee. “Will you excuse me just a moment?” he said suddenly, rising.

His guest rose, too. “I hope you’re not going to call him.” There was something threatening in her stance, as if she were daring him to leave the room.

Giles laughed helplessly, a dark, hopeless laughter that made the policewoman’s face turn pale. “No,” he said finally, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He went to the bathroom, peed, threw up, and took some aspirin. He still didn’t know what this woman wanted from him. What did she want to know about Angel? Had he done something? Was it possible that Angelus had somehow been released again? His hatred for Angelus tempted him to confide in her, but something held him back. She had a fanatical look in her eye. Giles had the uneasy feeling that he was far from divining her agenda. He brushed his teeth, wet his hair and combed it, tightened his robe, and went back out to face her.

“So, would you mind telling me exactly what you’re looking for here?” he said, in what was left of his most charming British manner. “Has something happened to Angel, or has he done something? I’m afraid I haven’t been in touch with him since he moved to L.A.”

She nodded as if what he said confirmed something she already knew. “Someone told me that you used to know him,” she said seriously. “I wondered if you could tell me whether you knew if he was involved in any…criminal activities here in Sunnydale.”

From the “someone” and the number of contiguous “ifs” and “whethers” Giles started to smell a rat. The aspirin began to kick in and the fog cleared a bit.

“If I’d noticed anyone committing a crime, Detective, I would of course have reported it to the Sunnydale Police at the time.”

“I see,” she said, obviously trying to contain her frustration. “What kind of a person is Angel?”

Giles considered. He had decided not to play along. “I do want to make sure that we’re speaking of the same person. What does this ‘Angel’ look like physically?”

Giles got a lot of annoyance value for his gratuitous question. Detective Lockley flushed scarlet and had to take a deep breath before speaking. “Just over six feet tall, short dark hair, pale skin, usually wears black. He’s broad shouldered and muscular. He purports to be a private investigator—head of Angel Investigations—but he has no investigator’s license.” Giles had the impression that she had a lot more to say on the subject but she stopped herself.

“I suppose he is the same person,” Giles said grudgingly. “As for what he’s like….” Giles began to feel inordinately nervous again as if he were playing a complex game without the rules. Did this woman have a legitimate grievance against Angel, or was she playing on the side of evil in some complex and indirect way? He took a deep breath and started in, feeling that to hesitate any longer was dangerous. “He’s not very social, but he does have a few very loyal friends.”

“Awww, get on, the man’s a self-righteous prig,” came a voice that startled them both.

“Spi—, uh, William,” Giles caught himself. “This is Detective Lockley from the L.A.P.D.,” he said, not too pointedly.

The detective had jumped for a gun that she wasn’t wearing. Giles wondered why not. “Where did you come from?” she asked roughly.

“I drop in from time to time,” Spike said casually. “And you can ask me anything, darlin’. I know this Angel better than I’d like to, and he’s a right bastard.”

“Detective Lockley,” Giles said quickly, thinking of the absent gun, “can you tell me, please, if this is an official investigation?”

She stared at him blankly for a moment without breathing and then exhaled sharply. “No,” she barked.

“Then I don’t think we have anything further to discuss, do you?” Giles said, allowing himself a sly smile.

She rose quickly and turned to Spike. “You said you’d be willing to talk about Angel,” she said. “Why don’t we go outside?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” he said with mock outrage. “That was before I knew it wasn’t an official investigation. I always cooperate with the authorities, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

Detective Lockley slapped her pad against her thigh. “What is it about him? How does he inspire such loyalty in everyone he knows?” She sighed loudly, embarrassed at her outburst, and stalked out the door without another word, shutting it firmly behind her.

“You’re welcome. The pleasure was all mine,” Giles said graciously at the closed door.

“That was interesting,” said Spike, walking over and picking up the scotch bottle. “Wonder what Angel has gotten into this time? Any chance of getting a snort of this, mate? I don’t mind drinking out of the bottle.”

“I’ll get you a glass,” Giles said, and retrieved the two used ones he had taken to the kitchen a few moments before. Spike gave his the fish eye and then shrugged before filling it. Giles filled his own and drank from it deeply, perching on the arm of the chair where the detective had sat as Spike walked around the couch and peered into the cluttered kitchen.

“Hmmm, it’s not like you mate. You’re slipping.”

“What’s not like me?” Giles took another drink. His empty stomach was beginning to burn from the combination of aspirin and scotch.

“Well, look around you. The place is a wreck and you look as if you’ve been holed up in here for weeks hitting the bottle. At least the telly isn’t on. Then I’d really worry about you.”

“You’d worry about me, Spike?” Giles said sarcastically. “That’s a new one.” He drained his glass. He was past the hangover now. He was on his way to being just plain drunk and feeling pretty well for the moment.

“Well, yeah, I do have feelings, y’know. I figure that the slayer dumped you and that’s why you’re feeling so low. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Get fucked, Spike,” Giles said, rising from his perch to get the bottle.

“Glad you brought that up. I’m not the presence I once was in Sunnydale, what with my chip and all, and I was wondering if you could help me find some action. Maybe the slayer, now that’s she’s through with you. She’s done vampires before, as we all know, and it might—“

Giles’s glass dropped to the coffee table with a sound like a shot. He vaulted over the couch and threw himself on Spike, who dropped his drink and backed up against the wall with his hands up defensively. Giles grabbed his wrists, holding them back hard to the wall, and spoke into his face. “Don’t talk about Buffy that way,” he said through clenched teeth. “If it weren’t for that chip in your head, I would have killed you a long time ago, and I still can.”

Spike grinned into his face. “Oh, Rupert,” he squeaked, affecting a falsetto, “this is all so sudden!”

Giles stared into Spike’s eyes and saw that nothing he could say would break through that smug confidence. He might manhandle or even beat Spike, but Spike knew Giles wouldn’t kill a defenseless creature, no matter how evil it had been. He had no reason to be intimidated by Giles.

They stood suspended for a long moment while Giles pressed Spike against the wall with his body.

“Never mind, mate,” said Spike, getting restless. “Let’s have another drink, maybe watch a little telly? Do you have any of that cereal I used to like? Wheatabix, wasn’t it?”

Giles kissed him. This was not a gentle affectionate kiss, but a domineering gesture. Giles covered Spike’s mouth with his own, forcing it open and exploring it deeply with his tongue. Spike’s head was already pressed against the wall, so he tried to shake it, yelling into Giles’s mouth as his own was being ravished.

Giles broke off the kiss when he was good and ready. Another glance into Spike’s eyes told him that the vampire was seriously rattled. Giles smiled with satisfaction and took to biting a line along Spike’s jaw up to his ear and then down his neck, where he grabbed a bit of flesh with his teeth and sucked it, making a mark.

“No fair, Rupert!” Spike cried. “I can’t do that to you.”

“No, you can’t,” Giles remarked mockingly between bites and kisses. “You can’t fight me, can you? But you told me you were hard up, so I’m helping you out, Spike. You’re unlikely ever to make it with a slayer, but perhaps a watcher might be a new experience.” He released one of Spike’s wrists and reached down between them to find Spike’s hard-on. “Besides, I don’t think you mind all that much.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve found me out,” Spike sighed. “All right, then. But, remember, I’m not a poufter.”

“You are if you’re enjoying this,” Giles said evilly.

“Well, maybe I am. I’ve been lots of things in my time. I’m not ashamed.”

“I don’t like the word myself.”

“Neither do I. Sorry I mentioned it.”

“Shut up, Spike,” Giles said, capturing his mouth again. Releasing Spike's wrists, Giles opened Spike’s shirt and eased both jacket and shirt down his shoulders until Spike shrugged them off. Then both of Spike’s hands were inside Giles’s robe, rubbing and squeezing up and down his back. Spike clutched at his ass, pulling Giles towards him as Giles undid Spike’s pants, pushing the tight black jeans down. There was no underwear in evidence.

“Take off my boots,” Spike said urgently. “I can’t get my pants off without—”

“Too bad,” said Giles, discarding his robe. He eased Spike to the floor and straddled his head in reverse while pushing his pants below his knees. Spike’s cock was long and thin, and, like Giles’s own, uncircumcised. He felt Spike take charge of him as he retracted Spike’s foreskin and lapped around the head. Spike bucked under him and sucked him hard while pulling on his balls.

Giles had first thought of teasing Spike for a very long time, of making him truly ache before he came, but at the rate Spike was moving on him, Giles would come somewhat too soon. Whether he was nibbling, biting, or licking, Spike seemed to know all the tricks. He had done this before, and he did it well enough to impress Giles. This drove Giles to expend all his skill on making Spike very close and then pinching him down before bringing him up again. He waited for Spike to react.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Spike exploded finally. “You’re killing me, mate!”

Giles smiled and slipped Spike’s cock as far down his throat as it would go. He sucked and swallowed, spurred on by Spike’s increasingly urgent groans and movements. Meanwhile, Spike was fucking Giles with his mouth so exquisitely that Giles couldn’t hold off anymore. As Giles came, Spike grabbed his ass to push him in as far as possible. Giles squeezed Spike’s balls and sucked him hard and had the satisfaction of hearing Spike cry out uncontrollably. So, Spike was a screamer. Who would have thought it?

Giles lay panting on the floor next to Spike with his hand on Spike’s belly. As the moments went by and sense returned, Giles suddenly started to wonder what on earth had possessed him to do what he had just done. For years he had held all vampires, even Angel, in utter contempt. He’d hardly been sympathetic to Buffy when she had failed over and over to give up Angel, and now he himself, Mr. Self-Righteous Watcher, had just made it with Spike, the worst of the lot except for maybe Angelus. And if he had the chance, he’d do it again right now. He didn’t know what to think of himself, and he didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t particularly want to see Spike’s face, but they couldn’t lie there forever. He was getting cold.

“Spike, I—” he began tentatively.

“You might consider bathing once in a while if you’re going to be intimate with people,” Spike interrupted.

“So might you,” Giles shot back angrily.

“Oh, come now. You’re living in a cushy house with a bathroom, while I’m living in musty tombs with spiders and corpses. I think I keep myself up rather well, considering.”

“Why don’t we both have a shower?” Giles suggested suddenly. Despite his better judgement, he didn’t want Spike to leave.

“Together?” It wasn’t clear if Spike was pleased with the prospect.

“Not necessarily,” Giles replied. “You can wash your clothes, too, if you like.” He couldn’t believe he was having this domestic conversation with Spike. “I do have some of that cereal left.” He sat up. Spike was still lying there and he didn’t look very smug. He looked a tad shaken, Giles was pleased to see. Or maybe that meant that Giles was so far beyond the pale that he was starting to scare the vampires.

“Is it stale?” Spike asked.

“Probably,” Giles answered. “I never bought any more after you left.”

“S’truth. I had it good here.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me,” Giles said, rising to his feet and getting his robe. “Take off your clothes. I’ll start the laundry.”

When Giles reached the bathroom, Spike was just finishing his shower. Giles got in and began to wash, leaving the door open.

Spike drew a happy face on the mirror with his finger and looked into it at his lack of reflection, while trying to fix his hair with Giles’s comb.

Gilles felt uncomfortable with the silence. “You take quick showers.”

“Not like Angelus. He was compulsive about that. Always in the bath and takes hours.”

Giles soaped his hair and scrubbed his scalp hard. It felt good to be clean. “ _Took_ hours,” he mumbled through the soapy water.

“What?”

“He’s Angel now, not Angelus.”

“That’s all right. But some things don’t change. I’ll bet he still takes forever in the bath.”

Giles would have liked to linger, but he finished quickly and turned off the water. “Did you live with him once?” he asked, not really sure he wanted to know.

Spike shrugged. “He was my grandsire. We shared a flat, a bed, food, everything. I have to admit that’s where I learned most of what I showed you downstairs. Added a few twists of my own, of course.” He paused and glanced at Giles, who was preparing to shave. “You don’t ever want to play that game with Angel, though.”

“Game?”

“What we just did. He’s fucking enormous. Fairly breaks your jaw coming. So, have you got something for me to wear, Rupert, or shall I walk about naked and frighten your neighbors?”

“The pajamas are in the second drawer of the large dresser,” Giles said coldly, glad Spike was leaving the room. He knew Spike was just torturing him as usual, but somehow this news bothered him terribly. In a way, he realized with a shock, he’d just had sex with Angelus, once removed. And Angel had an enormous cock. That was even worse to contemplate.

 

Spike stalked down Giles’s street, hands in pockets. He should be feeling quite pleased with himself. He’d gotten off, and he’d filled his stomach with that stupid cereal to make himself forget that he hadn’t had any money to buy blood in the last few days. Better still, he’d fulfilled his original goal, which was to get some blood money from Rupert. Tomorrow morning he’d be at the butcher’s when it opened. Good thing they had that dark alley entrance. They knew where their business came from in Sunnydale, all right. Best of all, he’d managed to needle Rupert about Angel. Telling him about Angel’s dick had been inspired. Now he could contemplate _that_ all night.

The only thing that wasn’t perfect was what had happened between them. Sure, there had been enough sparks flying to keep Spike interested. And Giles had tortured him so artfully that when Spike finally came, he’d seen stars. He thought he might even have yelled. Damn, Rupert was almost as good as Dru.

But Rupert was a watcher. Well, ex-watcher, all right. That still made it risky, and a bit shameful, just like this whole business with the chip. But Spike knew himself well enough to recognize the signs. He’d be returning for more of that.

A car pulled up alongside the curb and started to track him slowly. The windows were dark, but he knew it wasn’t Rupert’s old tub, and the slayer didn’t have a car. Not being able to fight made him wary rather than bold. He decided to run for it.

A car door opened behind him. “Wait!” cried a female voice. He stopped and turned back curiously. It was that cop. Fine. He hadn’t really had enough of a chance to toy with her. She looked easy. The kind who takes herself and her mission so seriously that you can say anything and she believes it for at least a minute.

“You frightened me,” he said, approaching the car. “I thought you were a mugger. Sunnydale isn’t the safest place at night,” he added virtuously.

“Sorry,” she said curtly. “I wasn’t sure it was you. William, right? I was wondering if you’d talk to me about Angel.”

“Off the record?” he asked, as if it mattered.

“Sure.” Her face said she was lying and she thought she’d fooled him. He was really starting to hate her now. Without this chip in his head he’d make a meal of her. Now he’d be lucky to get a little sport.

He got into her car and bummed a cigarette, rolling down the window to let out the smoke. Strange that a perfectionist like herself smoked. She must be really freaked about Angel. He’d love to know why.

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked pleasantly.

“How long have you known Angel?”

He almost laughed. He’d seen it coming. _Oh, a hundred and fifty years or so._ “We go way back, darling,” he said insolently. He needed to know if she knew that Angel was a vampire. He didn’t want to reveal himself quite yet.

“Did he do something bad to you?” She was trying to act sympathetic, but she clearly didn’t give a fuck. Oh, she was a cold one!

“Stole me girlfriend, he did.” Spike put on his most artificial Cockney whine. “I had an accident and was in a wheelchair and he started toying with her right in front of me face.” Come to think of it, he had a pretty good sob story there, and it was all true, as far as it went.

“That’s terrible,” she said unconvincingly. “But how….” She hesitated, trying to frame her question. “Did he change her in any way or hurt her?”

Now he understood. She knew about Angel and was trolling to see if he knew. The whole issue of human and vampire relations eluded her. Well, true enough, it used to be much simpler in the old days before Angel was cursed with a soul, before the slayer had a mind of her own, not to mention before this bloody chip. Vampires got hungry and humans were food. End of story.

“You know,” he said, trying to sound intriguing and very British, “Angel is a special sort of chap. Have you ever seen him outside in the daylight? I haven’t. I think that’s distinctly odd, don’t you?” He finished the cigarette and flipped the butt out the window where it lay glowing on the curb. He wondered if he dare ask for another.

“No, I haven’t,” she said dryly. Spike’s bullshit wasn’t going over very well with this cop. Had she guessed about him already? No matter. He had hoped to lead her on an extended wild goose chase, but this was going nowhere and he was bored.

“Did you ever see Angel kill anyone?” she asked bluntly.

“Well, there was Rupert’s girlfriend,” he said casually.

“He killed Rupert’s girlfriend? Did you see it?” she asked excitedly. What a ghoul.

“Sorry, no,” he said.

“Now can I ask you a question?” He turned his face away from her and bared his fangs.   “Did you ever see Angel look like this?” He whipped his head around towards her, expecting at least a satisfying scream, but was horrified to discover that she was already holding a crucifix and a stake aimed right at his heart.

“Bitch!” he screamed, slithering out of the window backwards and falling painfully on his shoulder and neck. He somersaulted to his feet and ran, jumping over a hedge into someone’s yard and climbing a fence on the other side. He heard crashing in the bushes and cursing behind him. What a fool she was. Any self-respecting vampire except himself would have killed her in a second. What did she think she’d do with him if she caught him? Damn, but he’d love to break her neck. He didn’t stop running until he was back in his tomb.

So that woman was Angel’s enemy. She might even be his match. Obviously Spike couldn’t help her directly, but he knew someone else who could.

 

“Rupert.” At the sound of his name being whispered in the dark, Giles came awake and fumbled for the light. “No lights. It’s Spike.” A body eased itself down on the bed beside him.

“Good God, Spike, it’s the middle of the fucking night.”

“That’s original,” mocked Spike, irritated. “Of course it’s the middle of the fucking night. I’m a fucking vampire, didn’t you notice?”

Spike slid under the covers and reached for him. Giles discovered that Spike was naked and shivering. Did vampires tremble with cold or fear? Giles realized that he knew a lot more about how vampires died than how they existed. Spike wrapped his arms around Giles and pressed up hard against him. Aroused by Spike’s intimate ease with him, Giles rolled on top of him and started kissing him insatiably. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself, but he wanted Spike in the worst way, and Spike seemed happy to have Giles rubbing against him, biting his shoulders and chest.

“Let me put on a light,” Giles whispered.

“I don’t want that lady cop to know I’m here,” Spike answered quickly. “She chased me through the bushes with a stake. Jesus.”

“But I want you,” Giles said, hoping Spike would understand what he wanted and allow it. “I won’t be able to see—”

“We’ll manage,” Spike said, “but do what you were doing for a bit.”

Giles licked Spike’s neck and nibbled his way down to Spike’s thighs, which he kissed and bit rather hard. Every time Spike cried out or asked for more, Giles felt giddy with arousal. How could he suddenly be so sexually fascinated by Spike? He nuzzled Spike’s cock and licked up the shaft provocatively without really giving him much stimulation where it counted.

“All right, I give up,” Spike said breathlessly, “you can have me now. I just can’t believe I’m saying this to a watcher.”

Giles held himself on all fours while Spike turned over. “I don’t have any lubricant,” he realized suddenly. “I’ll have to go look—”

“No you won’t,” said Spike, pushing back impatiently against Giles. “Just use spit. I’ll be all right.”

Even with just the spit to smooth Giles’s way it was remarkably easy to enter him, and Giles felt utterly ravished by his submission. It was strange. They came from two different worlds, the living and the dead, and most of the time they despised each other. But in this one thing they were a perfect match.

Giles moved on him, rubbing his face and head against Spike’s strong back, kneading his shoulders, fighting the impulse to say his lover’s name.

“Spike,” he choked finally, unable to resist, “Spike, you feel so good.”

Spike writhed under him with his hand on his own sex. “Fuck me, Watcher,” he whispered. “If I feel so good, fuck me harder.”

Giles slammed down against him, over and over, while Spike expressed his appreciation with inarticulate cries, culminating in one long cross between a sigh and a howl. Giles lost himself then and came to knowing that he was suddenly very far away from the man he used to be.

They lay together panting. “I thought vampires didn’t breathe.” Giles said.

“I don’t have to, but Angelus taught me it looks more human. Now it’s just a bad habit.”

“I hope your lady detective wasn’t lurking about,” Giles said, caressing Spike’s smooth shoulder. “She’ll think I’m torturing someone in here.”

“So sue me,” Spike said, stung. “I was enjoying myself.”

“I’m not complaining,” said Giles.

“You’d better not,” Spike grumbled. “Giving myself to a watcher, what was I thinking?”

 

Kate Lockley had now spent three days in Sunnydale, and she'd hardly found out a thing. She hated this seaside town. It was too pretty, too rich. People didn’t seem to respect the police as they should. And the radio played nothing but crap. Hardly any stations would come in here because of the mountains between L.A. and Sunnydale. The rich people here didn’t care—they had CD and tape players in their cars. Kate was too busy to have a tape player installed in her car, and, anyway, considering the neighborhoods she sometimes parked in, it wouldn’t last long. It didn’t matter. She prided herself on living a Spartan existence. She lived simply, ate healthy foods, worked out, drank sparingly--most of the time. The only pleasure she allowed herself was the pleasure of the chase. Putting a criminal behind bars, following a case through to sentencing, and seeing a violent or evil someone put away or sentenced to death was the only satisfaction of her life.

They had forced her to take a vacation. The department had abolished the practice of allowing detectives to take their vacation as a bonus check instead of as paid leave. She’d never taken time off before except when her father died. Now the department couldn’t give her the money, but they couldn’t just ignore her vacation, either. She had to take it. So she had decided to do something productive with the time. Lately, she’d spent hours poring over half-forgotten books in the musty Special Collections room in the main branch of the Los Angeles Public Library. The more she learned about vampires, the more she was determined to do something about them. They’d been on the earth for thousands of years, slaughtering people at their leisure. In every generation, there was supposed to be a woman called the Slayer who had a special calling to kill vampires. Who knows, maybe she herself was the Slayer. Maybe she was the one who’d rid the human race of this scourge.

Angel was the key, she was sure of it. He’d gone to great lengths to convince her that he was acting alone, fighting evil where he found it. That was just too good to be true. If he was on the side of good, why hadn’t he prevented her father’s death? She decided to spend her vacation in Sunnydale talking to some of the people who had known Angel. What she had found surprised her.

The names and addresses she had gleaned from an illegal search of Cordelia’s Rolodex were mostly current, and the people were easy to find. That’s where the simplicity ended. Rupert Giles, that old drunk, had seemed very disturbed by any mention of Angel, and yet he hadn’t wanted to talk to her. Maybe he was afraid. After all, there had been a vampire in his house while she was there. Giles must have invited it in at some point. And the vampire—William—told her that Angel had killed Giles’s girlfriend. She couldn’t decide whether to take his statement seriously or not.

Buffy Summers had become very agitated and said “no” quite forcefully when asked if Angel had committed any crimes. She admitted he was an ex-boyfriend. Maybe he had beaten her up, although she laughed when Kate had suggested it. Was it possible he still intimidated all these people from 100 miles away?

Willow Rosenburg seemed hopelessly ditsy. She was playing with a kitten the entire time they talked, while her friend made some weird, smelly concoction in the sink. When Kate left, she couldn’t remember what they’d spoken of and found that she hadn’t made any notes, though she’d apparently spent most of the afternoon with them.

Xander Harris was the most interesting. She had spoken to him in his room in his parents’ basement. Their conversation had started off with a misunderstanding. Harris apparently thought that Kate was telling him that Angel had committed a crime. “Did he become Angelus again?” he had said. “I knew it would happen eventually!” When questioned about that statement, he backtracked and insisted that she must have misunderstood him. Then Xander’s father had interrupted them, insisting that the detective must want to talk to him, not to his son, but he thought Angel was a boy on the football team at Xander’s old high school.

Kate was as frustrated as she’d ever been. Tomorrow she’d search newspaper files and police records for anything suggestive, but she didn’t hope for much because she’d learned, at least, that crime and trouble weren’t strangers to Sunnydale. Why, two years ago, the high school had exploded during graduation in an incident that had yet to be explained. The police here had one of the worst records in the state at closing cases. Just her luck that her suspect had come from here. Maybe there was a lot of gang activity. She’d have to look into that.

 

For Giles, one advantage of being forgotten by his friends was that no one came around to see him while he was busy with Spike. They stayed in bed all day and all night except when they ate. The bedroom smelled of tobacco smoke and sex and red wine. Giles cleaned the kitchen and ordered in groceries and butcher’s blood. Both of them knew that what they had could never last outside this cocoon they had built for themselves. Like Spike, it would burn up in the light of day. So they guarded it and sheltered it. Neither thought as far ahead as tomorrow.

They went to sleep side by side and awoke wrapped in each other’s arms. The embarrassment of wanting each other so much had faded. They were more casual in their demands, freer with caresses. Only when they spoke were they were at cross purposes, jibing at each other over things they could never agree on. There were things Giles couldn’t be convinced to talk about at all, like Buffy and being her watcher. But he told Spike about his school days, about the wild life and the sex with Ethan, the experiments with black magic.

In return he learned much more about Spike’s life with Angelus, and therefore Angelus himself, than he had ever wanted to know: his insatiable hunger and talent for cruelty, his voracious sexual appetites, his betrayals and his chilling ways of revenging himself. Giles began to feel that he knew Angel, through Angelus, better than ever before. His eyes were opened to the horror of this creature Buffy had been in love with. He should never have allowed their relationship to continue. And when Angel came back from hell, Giles ought to have killed him.

“Everyone loved Angelus,” Spike was complaining. They were lying naked on Giles’s bed in at midday with the curtains tightly drawn and candlelight shimmering against the walls. “I thought Dru would see through him, but even she was taken in. Frankly, I never saw his charm. Well, maybe for a while at the beginning. It would be hard to be in Angelus’s bed and not feel his charm, if you know what I mean. But he ruined Dru, he really did, even when she was a vampire. He never had any respect for anyone. I loved Dru,” he said, reaching for a gold-tipped cigarette. When Giles sent out for groceries Spike had convinced him to include a couple of packs of Sobranies in the order. “When Angelus was sent to hell, Dru left me for good. I tried to win her back, but even torture didn’t work that time. She just laughed in my face. I’m sure if Angelus called her she’d come running. Stupid disloyal bitch. I guess in a way we have something in common.”

“Who, you and I?”

“Yeah, who else? Angelus took away the love of my life, and he killed yours, didn’t he? What was her name?”

“Jenny.”

“Was it true, what he told me? He said that he broke her neck and then laid her out on your bed with—”

“Spike,” Giles interrupted warningly, “You can’t talk about this.”

“Sorry, mate. I wish it was Angel who had a chip in his head.”

“He does, in a way. His soul.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, now he kills vampires. From my point of view that’s not an improvement. He still gets to kill. That’s what he lives for.”

Giles stroked Spike’s chest absently with a finger. “That’s true. I never thought of it that way before.”

Spike was starting to think he had accomplished his goal almost too easily. He had to be careful not to overdo it as he made the final connection. “Too bad that cop was such a bitch. She seemed to have something on Angel. She kept asking if he had committed any crimes in Sunnydale.”

“I can’t tell her about that, Spike,” Giles said, inching closer and starting to pet him more consciously.

“About Jenny? Of course you can.”

“It was Angelus, not Angel,” Giles whispered.

“It was still him.”

“Why do you care? You’ve killed plenty of people yourself. You’d probably kill me if it weren’t for the chip. Let’s not talk about it.” Giles pulled Spike over on top of him and held his head down for a kiss. “I’m sure the detective left town days ago anyway.”

Spike moved against him suggestively.   “You know, you and I might have an even better time if you were a vampire.”

“No, thank you,” said Giles primly.

“All right, Watcher, we won’t go there.” Spike ran his tongue back and forth across Giles’s chest, stopping at his nipples. “I think it’s finally my turn,” he said suddenly. “Where’s that lube you mentioned?”

“I moved it into the drawer to your right.”

Spike laughed. “How shy of you, Rupert. You’ve been waiting to be asked.” He tumbled off Giles and lay flat on the bed. “All right, make me ready.” Giles retrieved the tube and slathered Spike’s erection with the white creamy stuff. “Good,” said Spike. “Now, go ahead and fuck yourself on me.”

Giles laughed. “Lazy bastard.” He lowered himself onto Spike carefully and started moving. Spike’s length awakened stronger sensations inside him than he had felt in many years. It didn’t hurt that Spike was grinning into his face and whispering pornographic encouragement, or that he was plying Giles’s hard-on with both hands, smoothing his thumbs over the head in a way that was making Giles shiver. As he had several times before when Spike had done something inspired to him, Giles suddenly saw Spike with a kind of double vision, as both his lover and his enemy, as man and as vampire. He wanted Spike desperately, and yet he knew that every encounter with Spike connected him more irrevocably and indissolubly with Angelus, Giles’s torturer and Jenny’s murderer. “Have you done this to Angelus?” Giles asked painfully.

Spike searched his face and smiled a bit meanly. “Would it turn you on if I had, Rupert?”

“Y-yes. Yes.” Giles could hardly speak now, caught between the twin pleasures of Spike’s hard-on and hands. He had meant to say no, no, it wouldn’t turn him on and the thought of Angelus and Spike in bed disgusted him, but at this moment he knew it didn’t.

“Well, I have,” Spike said deliberately, breathlessly, “He liked it this way. His face got the same look on it that yours has now, and he yelled my name when he came.”

Involuntarily, Giles pictured Angelus and Spike. Angelus, indomitable, beautiful as Angel, powerful enough to break someone’s spine with a jerk of his wrists; Angelus, laboring over Spike’s body, talking his pleasure from Spike’s skilled hands as Giles was doing now. “Spike!” Giles was pushing back and forward wildly, consumed by his pleasure as his seed erupted over Spike’s pale chest.

And in the next minute, as he lay by his lover, as their bodies cooled companionably together, Giles squarely faced his own depravity, a demon as real as Angelus. In his desire for Spike he was becoming what he hated most. He knew he had to do something to redeem himself.

 

Kate Lockley was driving back to her hotel from Sunnydale police headquarters with a very interesting folder on the front seat.   Today, on the afternoon of her fifth day in Sunnydale, and quite by accident, she had met a very helpful man at the police department who had been an aid of the former mayor. He had shown her the database that had led her to this breakthrough.

While in L.A. she’d looked through microfiches of the old Sunnydale papers, looking for any suspicious happenings while Angel was there. The problem was there were just too many, and she soon gave up that idea. But this afternoon she had decided to check on William’s story about the girlfriend. When she had searched for Giles’s name in the police database, she got dozens of references that also listed the other people she had talked to. Either they were uncannily good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they were the strangest crime ring she’d ever heard of.

And, finally, there it was. On a certain evening nearly three years ago, Rupert Giles had come home to find his girlfriend, a colleague at Sunnydale High, murdered and laid out on his bed. The murderer had broken into his house and placed a trail of roses from the front door, up the stairs, to the bedroom. Giles was not a suspect in the murder. In fact, as usual in this town, there were no arrests and no named suspects, but the description of someone Giles believed to be involved with the murder, taken from him at the scene, perfectly matched Angel. Now she was getting somewhere.

She’d known it was only a matter of time. With what she’d learned about vampires, she knew that Angel couldn’t be as good as he appeared. If he wasn’t evil, he was the only vampire in the world who wasn’t. That was basically what he’d told her, but she didn’t believe it. What she couldn’t understand was what hold he had over all these people that would make them keep silent about a horrible murder.

In the morning, before she left for L.A., she’d stop once more at Rupert Giles’s house. She wanted to ask him about Jenny Calendar.

 

Four days had passed in sex and sleep and desultory conversation. Physically, Giles was as satisfied as he’d ever been. Spike was an incredibly responsive lover, and Giles never tired of touching him. But the whole situation left Giles uneasy and moody. At times he felt a kind of fury boiling out of him, and it frightened him because he had no idea where it came from, no way to control or channel it. Spike noticed it and seemed to take it in stride. Giles had found that even when Spike was placed in an unfamiliar or stressful situation, he adapted to it and made it his own. He was above all a survivor.

It close to noon on their fifth day. Giles was half asleep when he heard and smelt Spike lighting a cigarette.

“I shouldn’t have bought those things for you,” he said irritably.

“Ah, but you’d do anything for me. You want to keep me happy,” Spike said smugly, lying back and taking a deep draw.

Giles rolled over and straddled him, taking the cigarette from his fingers and considering it with a frown.

“All right, Watcher, here’s another way I’m about to corrupt you.” Spike said contentedly. “Go ahead, try it.”

Instead of tasting it, Giles held it down near Spike’s chest and moved it slowly above his skin. A hair fizzled in the silence. Spike laughed. “Are you going to burn me, Watcher? Go ahead, I don’t mind. Oh, I’ll scream, but I won’t hold it against you. I know how these little impulses can grab us.”

Giles’s expression suddenly changed as if he were awakening from a dream. He stubbed the cigarette out in the heavy glass ashtray that rested on the sheets. “Filthy habit, really,” he said softy.

“What, cigarettes or me?” Spike asked slyly.

Giles laughed. “Both.” He extended himself full length over his lover and began to kiss him with lazy intimacy. Their bodies moved against each other, their hands joined, and even their feet stroked each other. Without warning, Spike rolled over on top of Giles and straddled him. He took a new cigarette from the pack and held it unlit over Giles’s chest just as the watcher had done to him.

“Now, if I were to burn you,” he said conversationally, “it would be unforgivable, wouldn’t it? You’d scream, and you’d have a wound, and you’d bear the scars for the rest of your life.” He touched the black stick down firmly on one nipple. “And that’s all because I’m a vampire and you’re not. Now, I ask you—is that fair?” He tossed the cigarette aside and lay on Giles’s chest tracing the pulse in his neck with one gentle finger. “Why don’t you open a vein for me, Watcher? I’ll drink some of your blood, you’ll drink mine, and it will be done. We can be together.”

“Yes, I wonder how long that would last?” Giles murmured.

“It’s easy to scoff,” Spike said petulantly, “but I have to tell you that some of these relationships last hundreds of years. Dru and I almost made a hundred and twenty. Even Angelus and I—well, you don’t want to hear about that.”

“One thing I’ve always wondered,” Giles said slowly. “When your sire drains your blood, what does it feel like? I’ve always wondered if the victims of vampires die full of fear or of euphoria.”

Spike kissed him briefly. “That’s a profound question, Rupert. Very profound, for a human. It only happened to me once, of course. Actually, the moment of being bitten is terrifying, but then you start to get lightheaded. It’s almost like coming. Your sire is the only thing you see, and you feel as if you never want her to let you go. Then you have to be buried and climb out of your own tomb, like being born from the soil.” He shuddered. “Then Dru and I went on a rampage all over Europe with Angel and Darla, the four of us. Oh, those were fine times.” He laughed at the expression on Giles’s face. “It all goes to show how experience changes us, Watcher.”

“I don’t think anything—anything!—could ever change me enough to do that,” Giles spat.

Spike shook his head. “Righteous indignation! There’s enough of that in the world, Watcher. Lighten up! You can’t possibly understand.” He began to plant open-mouthed kisses all over Giles’s face and neck, licking along his pulse from collarbone to chin. “I can smell your blood, Rupert,” he said seductively. “Let me drink a bit of it, and then you’ll understand me better.”

Giles reveled in the feel of Spike’s warm, ravenous mouth on his throat and chest. What would it be like to feel the life force draining out and a new kind of force entering your body? Never to grow old, to be scarred, to be hurt… Giles groaned to think what he was thinking. Spike grinned and slithered down his body, taking Giles into his mouth and making him groan again helplessly.

Spike worked him skillfully. Giles thought he’d known all of Spike’s tricks, but Spike never failed to add a new twist to his ways of giving Giles pleasure, of pulling him out of himself, transforming him into his opposite. At these moments, lying powerless under Spike’s hands and mouth, giving in to him completely in fantasy, Giles felt transported to another world, a world he had resisted all his life. Now he had to face the fact that morality had only been part of his motivation for avoiding close contact with vampires—his other motive was fear. Not fear of what they were, but of what he was, of what he might let himself become in a moment of pure rapture that would last an eternity. There would be no going back from that moment, and so Giles let himself balance on the brink in a voluptuous haze, hating both what he was and what he might become.

He was close, moaning softly, no longer trying to restrain his expressions of pleasure. Spike knew what he was and how to use him. “We could be together,” Spike whispered again. “We could fight Angelus together. We could destroy him.” He engulfed Giles’s cock in his mouth and went in for the kill, twisting and squeezing him mercilessly until Giles gave himself up with a cry that could have meant anguish or delight.

Spike sucked him until he was limp and then straddled his waist, taking his own hard-on in hand and stroking it slowly. Giles pushed Spike’s hands away and replaced them with his own. He loved to use the techniques that Spike had taught him on Spike himself. He pulled back Spike’s foreskin and held it back, making small movements with his hand to make Spike restless and demanding.

“Get on with it, Rupert,” he cried. “Stop torturing me.”

Giles smiled and increased the length of his stroke just a bit. Spike moved with him, leaning down to pinch Giles’s nipples and wipe the superior expression off his face. Giles finally put both hands to use, reaching back to massage behind Spike’s balls. Spike began to cry out, as he always did, as soon as he felt the first stirring of his orgasm. Giles could hear every stage of his rising pleasure until he groaned out his lover’s name in a way that never failed to give Giles a stab of intense satisfaction. Spike slowly collapsed at his side, smiling beatifically. After he came, Spike’s face always looked so defenseless, so innocent, that Giles could almost forget for a moment how dangerous a creature he harbored in his bed.

They dozed for another few hours until Spike awoke Giles by mouthing his neck. “I’m hungry,” he said fiercely, kissing him.

“There’s some nice bull’s blood in the fridge,” Giles said.

“Bull’s blood! Ugh! I wasn’t born to drink bull’s blood.”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Giles said, rising.

“No it isn’t,” Spike said meaningfully, touching a finger to his throat.

“It’s all I can spare,” Giles said a little angrily, and went to wash up.

They made a strange, late-afternoon breakfast of eggs and rashers with bull’s blood and orange juice.

Afterwards, they left the dirty dishes with all the others that had piled up in the last few days and turned on the television in the living room. There was some soap opera that Spike was addicted to, and it amused Giles to watch him watch it.

Just as they settled in, there was a knock at the door. Apprehensive, they looked at each other.

“It’s probably just the paper boy, mate,” Spike said flippantly.

Giles, wearing pajama bottoms and a robe, went to the door and hesitated. What if it was Buffy, or Willow and Tara, or Xander and Anya? He closed his eyes briefly as the knock was repeated. He’d dealt with Buffy’s affair with Angel, and they’d just have to deal with this. Steeling himself, he opened the door. It was Detective Lockley.

As she walked in, she wrinkled her nose, whether at the scent of sex or the sour dishes, Giles couldn’t say. Spike rose and retreated upstairs as soon as he saw her. She made a movement as if to follow him but Giles blocked her way.

“Your friend William is a vampire,” she said indignantly.

“He’s harmless. He can’t hurt anyone.”

She laughed humorlessly. “I keep hearing that about vampires, but somehow, seeing all the damage they do, I have trouble believing it.”

Giles shrugged. “He’s different.”

She snorted derisively. “Like Angel is different?”

So she did know what Angel was. “Neither one of them preys on humans,” he said, knowing that there was no way to make her believe it. “Spending all your time going after Angel is counterproductive. You ought to be helping him.”

“Helping him do what?” she scoffed. “Murder Jenny Calendar?”

Giles turned away from her and walked blindly into the kitchen. “Do you…” he began, trying to recover. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Her smile was small and cold and triumphant. “Do you remember the case?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m not likely to forget it.” Giles still stood in the kitchen partly turned away from her.

“Did you kill her?”

Giles looked around at her contemptuously. “Of course not.”

“Did Angel?”

Giles sighed and looked at the floor, shaking his head. “No. Angel didn’t kill her.” He hated to say the words exonerating Angel. Wouldn’t he himself still love to put a stake deep into that chest whether it contained a soul or not?

“At the time did you believe that Angel had killed her?” she asked insistently. “The description you gave the police that night matches his.”

“Yes and no,” Giles said deliberately as if spelling it out. “I don’t believe it anymore.” But in a way he did.

“Listen, Mr. Giles,” Kate said angrily, “I don’t know what’s holding you back. There’s a killer at large and I just want him to be punished for what he’s done. I want you to come to L.A. and identify him.”

_What’s holding me back? The little matter of a soul…_

“What good would that do?” Giles was getting exasperated now. “I didn’t see it happen anyway.” He wanted her to leave and stop stirring up this old conflict within him. He knew what he wanted to do, and he knew what he had to do. He came back out of the kitchen and faced her. “You have to listen to me. Angel didn’t kill her. If he could bring her back to life, he would.” His words rang hollow to his own ears. What did Angel care about his past victims now? He had a purpose, a new life, friends who protected him. Jenny, that beautiful, clever woman whose life had been snuffed out so horribly, meant nothing to Angel anymore. Maybe he should help this woman bring him down.

God, what was Giles thinking? Buffy would hate him for thinking of betraying Angel. He could just hear her voice. “You let her put Angel in jail?” she’d ask him. “Why? For something he couldn’t control? For something Angelus did? Giles, it was a horrible murder, but the murderer is gone. Angel has already spent 100 years in a demon hell for something he didn’t do. Even Jenny wouldn’t want any more revenge than that.”

Wouldn’t she? Jenny’s people were vengeful. They had put the curse on Angel in the first place. But Jenny was the one who was trying to reproduce the curse that would restore Angel’s soul. That was why Angelus had killed her. In a way she died trying to help Angel.

“He has a human soul,” Giles said softly, wondering how to convince her.

The detective laughed scornfully. “A vampire with a soul? I doubt it.”

“He does have a soul. It makes a difference,” he said earnestly. Thinking of Buffy and Jenny, he was starting to convince himself again.

“I’m not qualified to discuss metaphysics with you,” she said angrily. “All right. Let’s say that Angel has a soul and he’s been leading a good life. He’s still a vampire. He lives on blood, doesn’t he?” Giles nodded. “Well then, couldn’t he change? Couldn’t he suddenly start lusting after human blood?”

“I suppose he could.” Giles was almost whispering. “There’s no guarantee that any of us will always do the right thing.”

“What keeps you from helping me put him away, then?”

“Faith in Angel’s will,” said Giles in a broken voice. “Nothing but faith.”

“Help me nail him for this murder,” Lockley said suddenly, looking directly into his eyes. She was taking a risk here, appealing to the doubts she heard in Giles’s voice and dropping any pretense of fairness. “You know he did it, or you used to know.”

“What if he didn’t? What do you want me to say?”

Lockley shrugged. “If he didn’t murder Miss Calendar, I’m sure he murdered someone else. It doesn’t matter which one we get him for, does it?”

“It matters to me,” Giles said. Lockley didn’t know the half of it. Angelus had committed more crimes than any criminal she had ever prosecuted. He hoped Spike would stay upstairs and not come down here to shoot off his mouth. “Do you want me to lie?”

She looked at him steadily. “I won’t say that.”

“Suppose I testified against him and you knew I was lying. Would it bother you?”

She was impatient. She thought Giles was splitting hairs rather than raising important points. “No,” she said finally, “it wouldn’t.”

“Do it, Rupert.” Before Giles could answer, he heard Spike speaking from halfway down the stairs. “Go with her. Nail the bastard.” Kate moved towards him slowly. Spike backed up a few steps. “Stay away from me,” said warily. “I know you carry a stake.”

“I won’t let you kill Spike.” Giles took her by the arm. “He can’t hurt you.”

“I won’t, if you’ll come with me. Even if you don’t come now, I’ll just subpoena you later anyway once I have Angel in custody.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Giles said warningly. “You don’t understand anything. You think you do, but you don’t.”

“I understand enough to put Angel where he belongs.”

Giles laughed scornfully. “Do you indeed?”

She scowled at him and narrowed her eyes. “I understand enough to know that you’re sleeping with a vampire.”

Giles looked at her with cold fury in his eyes. “Get out of my house,” he said softy.

After she left, Spike came boldly down the stairs and slung an arm around Giles’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, Rupert. You didn’t get Angel, but you stuck up for me, didn’t you?”

“Apparently so,” Giles said, with a little smile. “I wonder if you’d do as much for me.”

“Hey. I’m no Angelus,” Spike said vaguely.

“No. You want to kill me, though.”

“Aw, not to kill you. I want to make you a vampire like me. What’s wrong with that?”

Giles laughed, but his smile faded quickly. “I wonder what that woman intends to do with Angel.”

“Kill him, I hope.” Spike was busy nuzzling around Giles’s throat again.

“If he were still Angelus, I’d agree with you.”

“Ah, well, Rupert. We can’t hope to agree all the time.”

“I have to go down there.”

Spike looked up, startled. “Down where?”

“To Los Angeles.”

“To save Angel? Why don’t you just phone? And, anyway, is he worth it?” Spike rubbed his hands over Giles’s chest. “Let’s go upstairs, mate.”

“No. Not now.”

Spike looked annoyed.   “You’re going to throw me over to save Angel?”

“You can stay here. I’ll be back in five or six hours, I hope.”

“Just one more before you go, then,” Spike said coaxingly. Simply by putting his hands around Giles’s bare back under his robe and pulling him close Spike managed to give him a hard-on.

“All right,” Giles sighed, “but let me telephone first.”

 

“This bucket’s not going to make it,” Spike said moodily from the passenger seat. “What if the fucking thing breaks down in the middle of nowhere and I get stranded until the sun comes up?”

“Don’t dramatize, Spike. It’s only seven in the evening.” Thanks to Spike, Lockley had a two-hour head start on them. “And even if we break down, there are plenty of places to be out of the sun while we get it fixed.”

“Oh, yeah, look, there’s a shopping mall. I can hang around a bleeding shopping mall for a couple of days while you get your fucking Citroen fixed. Why don’t you get an American car, mate?”

“I’m out of work, Spike,” Giles informed him. “I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t work, and I have money.”

Giles spared him a dry glance. “You have money because I gave it to you.”

“See? If you saved your money instead of giving it to your deadbeat lovers you’d have enough for a car.”

“Good point,” Giles laughed. “It was your idea to come with me. I hope you’re not going to do something to hurt Angel.”

Spike shrugged. “I never know what I’m going to do until I do it, Rupert. That’s why I’m so good in the sack.”

Giles considered. “I suppose that’s true.”

“’course it’s true. And you know that I hate Angel’s guts.”

“Then maybe you’d better wait in the car while I go in.”

Spike gave him a hurt look. “You don’t trust me, then?”

“Should I?”

Spike snorted. “Hell no.”

They were approaching the maze of freeways between the San Fernando Valley and Los Angeles proper. Giles, with his less-than-perfect eyesight and his poor sense of direction, made a wrong turn and had to double back. By the time they got to the general neighborhood of Angel’s office, it was nine o’clock and they were completely lost. Angel’s street seemed to dead end just before the street they were on and they couldn’t find a way to double back to it without getting caught on a one-way street. They soon ended up in a shopping district where all the streets looked alike. A group of people dressed in evening clothes was walking along the sidewalk. Giles pulled over to stop and opened the window.

Spike took a deep breath and then sniffed the air. “Not them, Rupert, not them,” he said urgently.

“Why not?”

“They’re vampires.” One of the men had already reached in and taken Giles by the throat. “Leave your hands off him, he’s mine,” Spike growled, baring his fangs.

The other laughed contemptuously. “Wanna fight for him, man?”

That was all Spike needed to hear. He leaped from the car and rolled over the roof, taking the vampire down hard on the asphalt. The others moved back and then tried to approach Giles, intending to feed on him while Spike was busy fighting. Giles locked the doors and rolled up the windows, waiting for Spike to finish.

Spike was clearly enjoying himself. He didn’t get to fight much anymore, but the chip didn’t seem to apply to vampires or other demonic forms of life. Spike pummeled this vampire until he couldn’t stand and drove the others away with kicks and curses. Giles opened the car door for him when he was through.

“Very impressive. I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

Spike didn’t meet his eyes. “For the moment,” he said.

Angel’s office turned out to be four blocks away. Giles didn’t even know for sure if he was there. When he had called, the phone machine picked up. They parked near the front door and started to go in. From the darkened doorway a figure emerged, running towards them.

“Giles,” Cordelia cried, “she wants to kill Angel!” Behind her Giles recognized Detective Lockley, holding a stake.

“Run, Spike,” he said quickly. “She’ll kill you. Find Angel and warn him.”

Unexpectedly, Spike snatched the keys from Giles’s hand and took off in the car, leaving Giles standing open-mouthed on the steps of Angel’s office building.

“Hello, Mr. Giles,” Lockley said arrogantly. “Should I report your car stolen? Your friend William seems to have taken off in a hurry.”

“Uh, no, that’s quite all right,” Giles said. “He had to run an errand.” In fact, Giles was wondering if he’d ever see Spike or the Citroen again.

“I can give you a ride downtown,” she said. “Not that I need you anymore, but another identification wouldn’t hurt.”

Giles removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose hard with two fingers. This was all giving him a terrible headache. “Detective Lockley, I’m afraid I’m not sure what’s going on here. Do you have Angel in custody?”

“No. Not yet.”

“What is your purpose here? Why is Miss Chase saying that you intend to kill him?”

“I intend,” she said, exaggerating the word, “to put Angel into a lineup and see if a witness to the murder of Jenny Calendar can identify him. I’ve been waiting here for a couple of hours. Someone must have warned him I was coming. Would you know anything about that?”

Giles wondered if his own phone message had prompted Angel to go into hiding. “There _were_ no witnesses to the murder of Jenny Calendar.”

“How do you know?”

The question hung there between them.

“Well, it apparently took place in my home, and I didn’t witness it.”

All this time Cordelia had just barely been containing herself. “Giles, she came in with a stake, looking for Angel. She made Wesley and me wait upstairs in the office. Wesley says—”

“Well, I found one.” The triumphant look on her face gave Giles the chills.

 

Angel sat in the dark with his head in his hands listening to water drip somewhere down the tunnel. One instant he was alone, and the next he knew someone was there with him. He jumped to his feet, ready for an attack. A match was struck a little way down the tunnel, illuminating a face he definitely didn’t care to see.

“Spike. Not you.” He started backing slowly away down the tunnel.

“Oh, relax, Angel.” The point of light that was Spike’s cigarette glowed brighter for a moment as he took a drag. “Watcher brought me to L.A. He wanted me to find you.”

“ _Who_ brought you?”

“Rupert. The watcher. Your old friend. Duh.”

“Giles brought you here? What for?”

“Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it?” Spike clicked his tongue. “As if I’m useless now that I have a chip in my head. I can still sniff out my old sire in the dark, can’t I?”

“Excuse me for not being glad to see you, Spike, but the last time you came to visit, you hung me by the wrists from a beam and drove stakes through my belly.” Angel kept his eyes on the tip of Spike’s cigarette that, from time to time, illuminated a bit of his face.

“’course I did. Fun, wasn’t it? You had that damned ring then. But it’s been destroyed now. No hard feelings, though you were a stupid sod to do it.” Spike took another hit of his Sobranie. “You’ve taken what belongs to me a couple of times too often, and I don’t care if you are my grandsire.”

“And you’ve tortured me and drained my blood and tried to murder my friends.”

Angel could almost hear Spike grin in the darkness. “Yeah, kept things interesting, didn’t it?” Angel had heard enough and started to inch away. “Wait a minute!” Suddenly Spike was almost on top of him. Angel pulled out a stake and Spike leapt back from the scent of it. “Watch out there!” Spike cried angrily. “I’m not here for my own pleasure. If I had my way, I’d let you rot. But Rupert said to warn you. He’s dealing with that fucking lady cop for you. She’s arresting your friends because they won’t tell where you are.”

“She can’t do that,” Angel said quickly.

“Well, she’s doing it, mate, so wake up. I saw her put the cuffs on Cordelia myself. The least you can do is refrain from staking me. Rupert wouldn’t be too pleased.”

“You’re really helping Giles?” Angel sounded far from convinced.

“I have his car. That woman is fucking crazy. She must think she’s the slayer.” Angel knew Spike well enough of old not to worry about a string of non sequiturs. “Anyway, you want a ride?”

“Where?”

“Away from _here_ , Sire.” Spire said caustically. “The cops are on their way down the sewer. They’re entering from the east carrying some serious firepower. Oh, and a net. A big one. I don’t think they’re fishing for mullet. Anyway, maybe we can drop you at the bus station or something. And, remember, I still hate your guts. I only did this as a favor to Rupert. Just don’t come back to Sunnydale or I’ll kill you. That town’s not big enough for both of us.” He started away at a good pace in the dark and then stopped. Angel was heading east. Spike reversed direction and caught up with him. “I said they’re _coming_ from the east.”

“I have to give myself up. I can’t let them arrest Wesley and Cordelia.”

Spike smiled slyly in the dark. “Well, isn’t that noble.”

 

“She found a witness in Sunnydale, apparently.” Wesley rubbed his forehead wearily. They were squeezed into the back seat of a tiny cab that was taking them to Detective Lockley’s office.

“Who?” Giles’s frustration was evident in his voice. “There isn’t anyone.”

“Hel-lo, she’s a cop!” Cordelia said as if her point were self-evident.

“And therefore…?” Wesley prompted.

“She paid someone off to do it. Of course! You guys are _so_ naïve.”

“You watch too much T.V.,” Giles said irritably.

“I hardly watch any,” she said, sulking. “Dennis doesn’t like it.”

“Dennis?” asked Giles, confused.

“Never mind,” said Wesley.

Detective Lockley kept them waiting over an hour. Cordelia refused to sit down because the chairs were filthy and covered with old coffee stains and dried gum.

“So, Giles,” Wesley said tentatively, “why didn’t you bring Buffy?”

“What good would that do?” Giles replied testily. “She’s already handling a crisis in Sunnydale.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “What else is new?” She stared suddenly at Giles as if remembering something. “Wasn’t that Spike I saw driving away in your car?”

“I’m afraid so, yes,” Giles admitted, embarrassed.

“Rupert, you brought Spike with you?” Wesley was almost speechless.

“Oh, that was helpful,” said Cordelia acidly. “Angel’s in trouble, so let’s get his worst enemy who nearly tortured him to death the last time he was here. As if Angel needs someone else who hates him.”

Giles was apparently concentrating very hard on cleaning his glasses. “I wasn’t aware that Spike came down here and tortured Angel.”

“Over the ring,” said Cordelia. “You know, the jewel of Amarna. It made a vampire unkillable. Buffy sent it down to him.”

“Yes, I knew that, and I heard that Angel destroyed it. So Spike was here, was he? I seem to be out of the loop,” Giles said gloomily, “and at times that can be quite dangerous.”

“Detective Lockley can see you now,” announced a uniformed officer.

“Splendid,” said Giles grimly.

As they entered her office, the detective looked very pleased with herself. Giles’s heart sank. If Spike hadn’t immediately driven out of town, never to be heard from again, he was probably using the car as an excuse to take Angel to a convenient place to fight and perhaps kill him. Throughout this whole episode, Giles hadn’t so much as wondered where his liaison with Spike would lead. His eyes had been open, but he’d been thinking with his crotch. He’d known forever that Spike was undependable—Spike himself had reminded him of that repeatedly during the last five days. Why had he agreed to bring the vampire to L.A.? If Spike did anything to Angel, it would be Giles’s fault.

“Detective Lockley,” Wesley began, “I must protest your treatment of—”

“Are you his attorney?” Lockley interrupted.

“You know I’m not an attorney.”

“Then shut up.”

Giles remained silent. He knew that the best way to get information out of the detective was to wait and hear what she needed to know.

She looked down at a paper on her desk. “Did any of you know a man by the name of Luke Tremain?” They looked at each other blankly.

“Is he your witness?” Giles asked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little bell rang.

“He claims that you hired him several times for work around the house—gardening and sometimes even housecleaning.”

“Oh, god.” Giles could picture him now: in his early twenties with gold-streaked brown hair and a low-waisted, muscular physique. He’d been a champion wrestler at Sunnydale High and a well-known local surfer, but wasn’t nearly as successful in the classroom. The day of Jenny’s murder, Luke had, presumably, come as usual on Wednesdays to clean the house for Giles and sweep the front walk. In his confusion and dread, Giles hadn’t remembered until later that Luke was meant to have been there that day. When Giles didn’t see him again, he imagined that the horror of the crime had been too much for Luke and had prompted him to find different work. Since then, Giles really hadn’t spared Luke a thought.

“You remember him?” Lockley was starting to glow with the joy of her victory.

“Yes,” Giles said slowly. “I never saw him after that night. Where has he been?”

“He actually saw Angel commit the murder,” Lockley told them, “but he was afraid that if he went to you or to the police that he’d be next. Apparently the Sunnydale police are sometimes not much good at protecting witnesses.”

Giles was stunned. His thoughts seemed to lope in a slow circle. _Angelus had been seen. He’d been seen. He’d been seen._ And, as his final revenge, without even knowing it, he’d brought Angel down.

“Where did you find him?” asked Wesley.

“He heard from one of his friends—Xander Harris, I think—that I had been asking about the night of the murder, and he decided to come forward.”

“May I talk to him?” Giles asked, at a loss. There was something that he needed to remember. Something Xander had once said in passing about Luke.

“Who, Luke or Angel?” The detective allowed herself a completely triumphant smile.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing here with you,” Spike said angrily. “But Rupert asked me to help you escape. He didn’t count on your being so thick that you’d walk up and ask them to nab you.”

“The best way to deal with this is to let them arrest me,” Angel replied stubbornly. “I can’t stay on the run forever and let my friends pay the price. You don’t have to stay with me, Spike. You can leave.”

“Oh, that’s gratitude for you,” Spike said sulkily. “For all our differences, you and I have fought shoulder to shoulder more than once.”

“Usually against humans,” Angel remarked dryly.

Spike stopped suddenly and listened. “They’re close,” he whispered. “What are you going to do?” Angel ignored him and walked on towards the dim light that was now visible around a turning.

Spike advanced and peered cautiously down the tunnel. They’d set up a barrier, but it was laughably low. He could break through their lines easily, and then he wouldn’t have to slog back through the tunnel again. He could go to Rupert and say he’d done his job. It wouldn’t look like his fault that Angel was in their clutches. Rupert would never know about the small lie he’d told. Maybe they’d stake Angel before he even got to jail. That would make it all much cleaner.

Angel had reached the barricade and stopped. A moment later, he was lying on the slimy tunnel floor, wrapped in thick nets. Spike waited until all the cops were busy securing Angel before he made his move. When the first cop tried to tackle him, he didn’t even slow down. The man fell and knocked over the man behind him. Spike cleared them both in one stride. He leaped again and cleared the barrier, hit the ground and came up running. He bolted up the stairs and never looked back until he reached the car.

 

“We’ll be able to go for the death penalty,” Lockley told Giles. “I thought you’d be happy to know that your friend’s death would be avenged. I’ve scheduled a line-up this evening so Luke can identify him.”

“I don’t believe in vengeance,” Giles snapped. “It just causes more violence, more hatred. And I don’t believe that executing the wrong man for Jenny’s death will make her rest any easier.” Lockley laughed. Giles stared at her, outraged. “What do you know about it?” he asked bitterly.

“I was just thinking that it probably won’t come to an execution. When he’s scheduled to come to his first court hearing, it’s likely to be in the morning. The street between the courthouse and the jail is bright and sunny until afternoon.”

“You mean you won’t protect him? You’ll just let him burn?

She shrugged.

“You’ve always intended to kill him, haven’t you?”

She glared at him. “Don’t say that to a police officer. We’ll take all reasonable precautions. If something unexpected happens, something we can’t control, it’s not my responsibility.”

“It is if he’s in your custody,” said Giles angrily.

“Not if it happens because he can’t stand the light of day.” She looked at Giles disdainfully. “What kind of creature can’t go out into the light of day?” she asked. “Well? Give up? An evil creature. I say if something can't stand the sunlight then it doesn’t deserve to live. It deserves to burn up into ashes.”

“And his soul?” asked Giles. “What happens to that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not a priest.”

“All you have to be is a human being.” Giles turned his back on her and left the room.

 

Well, it was stupid to go put your head in the lion’s mouth, but Spike knew for certain that Giles was in the police station. After all their closeness, he could track the watcher by smell now, and it made him feel agitated to have to wait around outside wondering what was happening in there.

 _They’d better not hurt him,_ Spike thought, looking for a parking space where he could wait for a while and still see the entrance _. I’m the only one going to do that._

“What else can we do?” Wesley insisted. “We don’t know if this Luke is already in the building or not. If we wait out here perhaps we can talk to him.”

“I don’t know what good it will do,” Giles retorted. “If he saw Angelus kill her, there isn’t much we can do to change that.”

“We can explain it to him,” Wesley said.

Giles gave him an exasperated look. “Yes, we can just tell him that the man he saw do it didn’t really do it—well, actually he did, but his soul wasn’t in his body at the time. It’s hopeless.”

“He lives in Sunnydale. He’ll understand,” said Cordelia reasonably. “And anyway I still think someone put him up to this. I bet he didn’t see Angel at all. If he did, where has he been all this time?”

“That’s a good question, Cordelia,” said Giles. “I don’t… Oh, god, I think I see him.”

Walking quickly down the other side of the street was a young man wearing a shabby jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were thrust deep into his pockets. His brown hair was streaked with gold.

“Xander wasn’t a friend of his,” Giles remembered suddenly. “He complained to Buffy because Luke was one of the people who beat him up after a football game one time. They couldn’t stand each other. I wonder how Luke really found out about Detective Lockley?”

Crossing the street, Giles moved to intercept the young man before he could reach the station house, leaving Cordy and Wes standing across from the entrance. “Luke,” he said gently, “it’s Mr. Giles.”

Luke stopped short and looked around him nervously. “Mr. Giles,” he repeated.

Looking into his face, Giles could see that Lockley was right about how traumatized he’d been. There was a peculiar look in his eye, and he seemed pale and drawn, unlike the healthy surfer boy he had always been.

“Luke, Detective Lockley said that you claim to have seen someone murder Miss Calendar. Is that true?” Giles wondered for a moment if Lockley would send someone out to arrest him for witness tampering.

“Uh, yeah, I saw that. I did.” He seemed ill at ease and uncertain, almost as if he wasn’t quite sharing this reality. “I have something to show you,” he said quickly, slurring the words a bit so that Giles almost didn’t understand them.

“Do you? What is it?”

“It’s, um, it’s a note. Miss Calendar left you a note that night. I took it. I still have it. I’m sorry.”

Giles’s pulse began to pound in his ears. “Let me see,” he said urgently.

“It’s… I… Let’s go over here.” He made an about face and walked down the street the way he’d come. Giles followed, full of anticipation. Cordelia and Wesley must be following, because Giles heard Cordy’s heels clicking on the sidewalk. He hoped they’d have the sense to keep their distance so that Luke wouldn’t bolt.

They walked about half a block before Luke slowed and let Giles catch up with him behind a truck illegally parked on the sidewalk. “I didn’t want to take it out in front of the station, where the cops could see,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Look…”   Giles looked, but all he saw was the sky as Luke took him by the shoulders and bent back his head. Luke’s roar of triumph was hot against his neck and then there was a soft puff of dusty air like the breath of a Santa Ana wind as Luke dissolved into ashes. Giles heard a piece of wood hit the sidewalk as he began to fall, but a strong arm caught him and held him up.

“No one—but no one—drinks this man’s blood except me,” Spike announced.

 

Detective Lockley wouldn’t see them. Giles was furious. “Tell her that her star witness turned out to be a vampire.”

She came out to the shabby waiting room a minute later. “What’s happened to Luke?” she said, eyes flashing.

“He tried to kill me. Fortunately, he’s dust now.”

“Who killed him? Were there any witnesses?”

“William staked him,” Giles said, a bit embarrassed.

“And we saw everything,” said Cordy smugly. “So did the guard at the door. You have to let Angel go now.”

She looked from one to another, and Giles wasn’t sure she’d believe them. Finally she tossed her head and sighed. “There were a few things about him that didn’t make sense,” she said finally.

“And you were still going to let him identify Angel?” Giles asked indignantly.

“That’s police work,” she said arrogantly. “Sometimes you get justice however you can. And now I’m going to have you identify Angel as the man you saw in the area just after the murder.”

“But I—”

“Come with me.”

Giles looked through the glass at the shackled men holding numbers. He sighed. Angel was there—number three—looking fairly shell-shocked at his predicament. He had no way of knowing it was Giles was out here and not some witness sent by the vampire-riddled Sunnydale bureaucracy. As it turned out, Luke had worked for the former mayor’s office. He must have been turned by Angelus the night of Jenny’s murder.

“As it happens, detective Lockley, I can tell you which of these men is Angel, but I can’t identify him as a murderer,” Giles said finally.

“Why not?” Lockley folded her arms and glared at him.

“You see, the man I saw bothering Miss Calendar resembles Angel quite closely. The resemblance is really quite extraordinary except around the eyes. That’s how I can tell that it isn’t him.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I thought that maybe at the last moment you’d do the right thing,” she said coldly, running a hand through her hair. The stress of losing her prey just before the kill made her face look pinched.

“I have done. Now you have to let him go,” Giles reminded her.

“Eventually.”

“Tonight.”

“Don’t you dare give me an ultimatum,” she said angrily.

“You’ve lost, detective. Let him go or I’ll find a lawyer and perhaps a reporter.”

She laughed. “I can see the headlines now: “Vampire held unfairly on murder charge. You think that would go over big with the public?”

“Let him go, detective. You have no case, and if you let him die in custody you’ve circumvented justice. Despite all you’ve done, I think you do care about justice. If you’d just get over your prejudice against Angel, you’d see that it’s all he cares about, too.”

“And how do I get over my prejudice? The way you’ve gotten over yours with William?” She looked down on him from her high moral ground. She had nothing left in her arsenal but personal attacks.

The blow connected. Giles took off his glasses and wiped them absently with his handkerchief. “Yes, well, I must say I don’t recommend that to you, no. Especially not in Angel’s case.”

 

When Angel walked down the police station steps and approached the little group gathered around Giles’s car, Cordy ran up and hugged him as Detective Lockley looked on disgustedly.

“Did they torture you?” Cordelia asked anxiously.

Angel laughed softly. “This is Los Angeles, Cordelia. They don’t torture prisoners.”

“Giles said that _she_ was going to make you walk out into the sun,” Cordelia confided.

Angel looked questioningly at Giles, who nodded. “She hates me,” Angel said, glancing up the steps at Lockley, who turned and went back inside. “She thinks I could have prevented her father’s death. But she’ll figure out eventually that she’s wrong.”

“In the meantime, can you please stay away from her? The woman carries a stake. Hel-lo!” Cordelia said brightly.

Spike had made himself scarce after staking Luke, not liking to be too close to the uniformed policeman who had seen what he’d done, but suddenly he was back among them, slinging his arm around Giles’s shoulders. He grinned wickedly to see the startled looks on everyone’s faces. Just to drive his point home, he flicked his tongue across the watcher’s ear. What could Giles do? There was no use denying the truth. He stood there stonily and faced down his friends.

“Hello, Rupert,” Spike said jauntily. “What’s he doing out?” he asked, gesturing at Angel. “I can’t believe they’d let him post bail.”

“Actually, no,” said Giles evenly. “They’ve dismissed the charges.”

“Dismissed the charges?” Spike echoed incredulously. “What happened to that witness, then?” No one spoke. Angel smiled ironically. “Oh, shit. No, don’t tell me. Who was that guy I staked?” He read the answer in Giles’s face. “Oh, bollocks!” he cried, spinning around and putting another dent in the Citroen’s hood with his fist. “How the hell was I supposed to know the witness would be a vampire?”

“Thanks for saving my ass, Spike,” Angel said, amused.

“I’d rather dust your ass,” Spike said furiously. “See if someday I don’t.” He climbed into the car and slammed the door, making Giles wince. “Come on, Watcher, let’s go,” he commanded, rolling up the window and lighting a cigarette. The car filled with a swirl of white smoke.

They talked a few more minutes, ignoring Spike sitting sullen in the car. When Cordelia and Angel drifted away in search of a taxi, Wesley came up close to Giles.

“Rupert,” he said, with concern evident in his voice, “I couldn’t help noticing….” He stopped suddenly and flushed scarlet. “Perhaps I’m being presumptuous,” he said awkwardly.

Giles shook his head and tried to meet Wesley’s gaze. “No, Wesley. Say what you need to say.”

“What possessed you?” Wesley blurted out painfully. “You used to be a watcher. Spike is a…is a….”

Giles bowed his head and laughed bitterly. “That’s exactly right, Wesley, it’s a kind of possession. I haven’t been myself lately; in fact, sometimes I don’t think know who I am anymore. I haven’t been a watcher or even a librarian in so long that.…” He sighed. “All I know is that this thing with Spike can’t last much longer. Well, in the end, that’s no excuse, is it? I’m not even all that ashamed of it. I’ve learned from him. Perhaps he’s learned something from me, too.”

“Perhaps so,” said Wesley stiffly.

“There are no cabs on Alvarado,” Cordelia announced loudly.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Giles offered. Three pairs of eyes looked uncertainly at Spike. “He’ll tolerate it if I ask him to,” Giles said with more confidence than he felt.

Spike maintained his battle face the whole time Angel was in the car, which was quite a while, since they had to drop off Cordelia first. When they reached Angel’s office, Giles got out of the car with Angel and Wesley to say good-bye.

“Go ahead, Wesley,” Angel said. “There’s something I need to say to Giles.”

Giles shuddered with a twinge of guilt and discomfort. Since his torture at Angelus’ hands he never enjoyed facing Angel alone.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Angel said uncomfortably. “I know you don’t like me, but you’ve always been there when I needed you, and—”

“No, Angel,” Giles interrupted, “you shouldn’t thank me. In fact, I owe you an apology. I know it was Angelus who tortured me and murdered Jenny. I know that, and I’ve always known it, and yet it’s hard to look at you and to know that you share his memories of killing her, and that it was your hands that did the deed. I’ve never been able to get past that, Angel, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize to me, Giles.” Angel looked him in the eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and I’ve only repaid you with trouble and suffering. If you were tempted to help Lockley get to me, I don’t blame you.”

“That’s very perceptive of you. You’re right, I was tempted. But, as it turned out, I made the right choice.”

Angel smiled. “So I owe you another.”

Giles didn’t return the smile. “You don’t owe me anything. I wish you well in the work you do. I just can’t—”

With a sudden spring, Spike moved over to the driver’s seat and leaned on the horn, forcing Giles to cut short his awkward conversation. As Giles opened the door, Spike started up the engine with a roar.

“Giles!” Angel called above the noise of clattering valves. Giles paused, halfway in. Angel pointed to Spike with a tilt of his head. “Watch your back!”

Giles nodded once curtly. As soon as he closed his door they screeched off in a haze of rubber and dust.

 

Spike was sullen all the way home, hunched over the steering wheel listening to rock music that made Giles’s head pound. It was two in the morning when they left L.A., and they would reach Sunnydale an hour before dawn, provided the car didn’t break down.

The horizon was barely starting to brighten when Giles put the key in his front door. He was weary with too much travel, too many unresolved memories and fears. As the door shut behind them he felt something brush his throat and in the next instant Spike was on his knees screaming in pain.

“Oh, damn, damn, damn!” he howled. “I can’t stand it any more! I thought if I just did it quickly, without thinking—” He was doubled over on his knees, holding his head with both arms as if it were coming off his shoulders. Giles squatted down next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Spike shrugged it off violently and then bellowed under a fresh onslaught of agony. “I don’t want your pity, Watcher,” he choked, “I want your blood! What the hell do you have against being a vampire—eternal life, eternal youth? What’s the problem?”

“It’s mainly the part where your body is inhabited by a demon,” Giles explained patiently.

Spike tried to rise but went down writhing in pain. “That’s what makes it fun, you fool. Oh, get away from me, leave me alone!”

“I’ll just go make some eggs,” Giles said nervously, taking refuge in the kitchen. His hands were shaking as he took out the eggs and butter and then turned to scour the skillet from their breakfast that was still sitting in a sink full of greasy water. It seemed days ago that they had shared that companionable meal, all ruined by Lockley’s knock at the door. Giles sighed as he put the wet skillet on the stove and added some butter. Instead of turning on the gas right away, he decided to cut up some onions to sauté with the eggs. Slicing the top off the onion, he slipped and made a good-sized gash in his thumb. Before he could raise it to his mouth, Spike was there, holding his hand, watching intently as the blood welled up, rich and red. The look in his eyes was so greedy, so appreciative, that Giles was shocked into stillness. Spike engulfed the entire thumb and sucked it voluptuously.

“Ah, Watcher,” he said in a throaty, satisfied voice, “I’ve tasted you. It’s not enough to turn you, though, even if you drank of me. But at least I’ve tasted you.” He licked up the blood that had spilled out while he spoke, and then reluctantly allowed Giles to withdraw his hand and wrap his thumb in a dishtowel. “You’re ruining me, Rupert,” he said, standing very close to Giles, holding him at the waist and murmuring in his ear. “Either I’ve got to have more or we’ve got to stop. Say you’ll give me more.”

He took to kissing Giles’s neck, opening his shirt and licking down his throat and chest with greedy strokes. With his arms around Giles’s waist he slid to the floor, pressing his cheek against the front of the watcher’s pants. “Say you’ll give me more,” he coaxed again, undoing the zipper and exposing Giles’s cock. Giles leaned against the counter, unable to resist. What would he do without this thrill, without Spike in his bed? What would he do without the adoration, the hatred, the danger, the knowledge that the one who kissed his body so ardently wanted to drain his life’s blood?

Spike licked him, sucked him, nibbled him, performed such an intricate ballet on Giles’s erection with his tongue that, in the end, Giles’s knees failed him and he slipped to the floor, where he sat against the cabinet with both hands in Spike’s white hair and cried out at the top of his lungs.

Spike lay with his head in Giles’s lap. “Just listen to me beg. I’m pathetic. Oh, hell! I know damn well you’re not going to give me your blood. If only I weren’t so hard up I’d look elsewhere. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“I know,” said Giles, stroking his hair.

Eventually Giles got up and made the omelet and they ate it. He went upstairs to bandage his thumb and returned wondering whether he’d find an empty house. But his lover was on the sofa, sprawled moodily in front of the telly. “Can’t leave now,” Spike said brusquely, “it’s dawn. Not unless you’ve got a blanket to spare.”

Giles surprised himself. “Stay until dark,” he said slowly. “Please.”

“Do you mean that?” Spike even flicked his gaze from the tube for a second.

“Come upstairs.”

Spike went.

For all the daylight hours they lay in a dark cocoon where candles provided a dim, flickering light. Giles and Spike revisited all the scenes of their pleasure over the last five days. They surprised and manipulated each other, fucked and devoured each other, rising to heights of ecstasy neither had known. They touched and explored tirelessly, as if trying to commit each other to memory. And when their bodies were exhausted, and when all Spike’s cigarettes were smoked to ashes, they rested together companionably, lying still in each other’s arms. They no longer bothered to argue or jibe, knowing that those times would return soon enough. When they awoke from an hour’s sleep, the sun was setting over the western sea.

They showered together for the first time, but Spike made no exception in his survivor’s habit of washing quickly and dressing in an instant. He was sitting on the bed slipping on his shoes while Giles was still naked, searching out his clothing where it had been tossed on the floor hours before. He felt invigorated, despite his lack of sleep. His mind leaped forward to cleaning the house, calling Buffy, reading the want ads. When he looked at Spike, he still couldn’t believe it had happened. He knew the memories would linger, but he wondered how the feelings would change. He felt that he had to say something hopeful about the future, even if he wasn’t quite sure it was true.

“You know, Spike,” he said tentatively, pulling on his trousers, “since you’ve had the chip in your head I’ve felt that you were different.”

Spike snorted. “Had to be different, didn’t I?”

“I mean, I feel that you have the potential to change your existence. There’s no use trying to live like an ordinary vampire now. Perhaps you could work with us sometimes.”

“You think I was trying to help Angel, Watcher? You don’t know the half of it.” Spike sat slouched forward, elbows on thighs, looking down gloomily at his hands. He refused to meet Giles’s gaze.

“I truly think,” Giles said, as he found his shirt wrapped in the bedclothes and disentangled it, “I truly think that you have the potential to do good.”

“Like Angel?” Spike asked coldly.

“Yes, exactly like Angel.” Giles glanced down to button his shirt. “You see—”

But Spike was gone.

Giles’s chest contracted into a knot of loss and disappointment. “Or, on the other hand, perhaps not,” he said softly to the empty room.

 


End file.
